Tangled Planet

by Kate Blair

  “Yeah, let’s get down from here before I freeze up completely.”

  We slid down the slope of the wing toward the ladder, holding on to each other for balance on the slippery surface and giggling. I went down the ladder first, hand under hand, jumping the last few rungs, my boots kicking up the snow as I landed. It was loose that day, as light as the dust from the air filters.

  “We should move down here,” Maia said as she landed next to me. “As soon as possible.”

  She was always in a rush.

  “Winter’s only just begun. It’s going to get colder,” I said. “Maybe in spring.”

  “Yeah, that’ll be something to witness. Images of spring on Alpha Earth look gorgeous.”

  “But will it be the same here? No one knows what a Beta spring is like.”

  Maia turned to me, grinning widely. “We’ll be the first people to see it. Isn’t that amazing?”

  I nodded. I didn’t know then it would be mostly mud.

  “Do you want to go see the lake again?” Maia said. “I hear it’s completely frozen now. We could grab some spare landclearer blades, tie them to our boots, and try skating, like in the old vidstreams.”

  “Sorry. Sabik wants to show me the progress on the forest camp. He’s coming here to pick me up.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Choosing your boyfriend over your best friend?”

  “We’ve been working together all day. You should be sick of me.”

  “Why? Are you sick of me?”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  “No, Maia. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Come on, just have a look down the path to the river, at least. Pick some glowferns.”

  I glanced toward the tree line. I could see the sparkle of the plants among the black trunks, and the lights tugged at me. So beautiful. Bioengineered just for us.

  Maia followed my gaze, saw my resolve weakening. “Sabik isn’t here yet.”

  “I guess some glowferns would look lovely in the cabin.”

  “Race you to the tree line,” Maia said.

  She leapt forward, across the runway toward the woods. I followed. But it was harder going than I’d thought. As soon as we left the runway, we were calf-deep in snow. We hopped from one foot to another, sinking into the white, listening to the muted crunch of each step.

  We must have looked daft. Two red figures bounding across the frozen field, giggling like Clearsighters, leaving monster-sized footprints behind us.

  I tried to catch up with Maia, laughing and breathless. But I slowed down as we approached the forest. The lights glowing between the trees were too strange. The alien glow of them, so unlike our simple, bright panels on board. They emphasized the tangle of trees rather than illuminating them.

  I should have trusted my instincts.

  Maia lunged forward and slapped her gloved hand against the loaded branch of the nearest tree, knocking off the snow and uncovering the dark green of the needles beneath.

  “Beat you!” But her smile faded as she saw me, lagging behind. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  She waited. She knew me too well.

  “What if we get lost?” I shut my mouth. It sounded stupid when I said it out loud. But what were the right words? The ones that would have stopped her going?

  “We could leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind us,” Maia said.

  I put my hand on my hip.

  “There’s just one path to the river. And we have our linkcoms.” She held hers up.

  Then there was the hum of a landbike approaching. I turned back, saw a figure riding up the forest path toward the shuttle. Floppy black hair sticking out from a red hood. Sabik.

  I was pleased at the time, relieved to have a reason to stay out of the woods. Sabik spotted us, turned the bike, and headed across the field, the wide wheels leaving a thick furrow in the snow behind him. He stopped carefully, got off, trudged over.

  He addressed me, like he always did. Ignoring her as if she were already gone.

  “Hey, Ursa. How’s things?”

  Maia answered. “Want to come exploring with us?”

  I turned to Maia. “Sorry. I did promise I’d see the camp.”

  “Fine.” She kicked up some snow. “I guess I’m on my own today.”

  “Just for a bit. The launch is at 1700,” I said. “I’ll meet you half an hour before, at the shuttle. We’ll sit together, okay?”

  “I guess.” Maia peered at me, blue eyes wide under her hood.

  “Okay, then,” I said. “See you at the shuttle.” I headed toward the landbike.

  I’d only gotten a few steps away before I heard the tramp of feet behind me, and cold hit the back of my neck. I yelped as a snowball slid down into my landsuit, a wet chill shivering down my spine.

  I turned, and that was my last sight of Maia. Grinning. Cheeks flushed with mischief, snowflakes in her red eyelashes, powdery traces of the snowball in her red glove.

  That’s the image I’m trying to capture, to save. That’s where I wish I could be. If I were there, I could stop her going into the forest, or I could go with her.

  But at the time, I bent down to scoop up a fistful of snow instead. When I straightened up Maia was already disappearing, dashing into the woods, laughing.

  I tried to aim at the red shape moving down the path among the black trunks, but I was hurrying and didn’t squeeze it into a proper ball. When I threw it, it turned into a spray of snow that blew back into my own face.

  I blinked to clear my stinging eyes, and Maia was gone.

  She didn’t meet me back at the shuttle at 1630. I reported her missing to Orion. But he wouldn’t take me seriously. He insisted that she was probably just messing about and that it was nothing to worry about. He didn’t start the search until the shuttle was due to take off.

  There might have been time to save her, if Orion had listened to me.

  It was Jovan who found her. He went into the woods with the protectors, when the search finally started. They found her in the lake, floating amid the broken ice that hadn’t held her weight.

  I should have forced Orion to start the search. I should have gone with her into the forest when she asked. But I was with Sabik.

  He never liked Maia. He tried to be sympathetic afterwards, but he didn’t feel the loss of her in his core like I did. He carried on going down to the planet, not caring that it had killed her. And he didn’t understand my worry, the way my stomach snarled up each time he was on Beta. I couldn’t focus until he came back safely to the Venture. Even after Seginus died in a building accident and Perseus was injured, Sabik didn’t get it. He just told me he’d be fine and that I should relax. But I couldn’t, and he wouldn’t stop going down to Beta.

  So we broke up.

  I stayed on board. Things are okay up here, if I don’t think too much about them. It’s been nice to have Astra all to myself. The Venture is safe and warm. Her metal walls are strong and covered with happy memories. It’s like I could step sideways into the past and Dad would still be captain. We’d still be en route, full of anticipation. And Maia would be at my side, instead of staring out at me from a memorial panel.

  But now I have to leave all this. Have to go down to Beta.

  “Stupid Cassius,” I mutter, throwing clothes into my bag, harder than necessary.

  There’s a knock on the door. Mom, Celeste, and Astra wouldn’t knock, so I have no idea who it could be.

  The door’s automatic release hasn’t worked in my lifetime. It’s on the list of repairs, and I give an unattractive grunt when I heave it open. That wouldn’t normally bother me, but standing on the other side is Jovan. Gorgeous Jovan. Super-talented geneticist Jovan.

  Maia’s brother Jovan.

  I hope he didn’t hear me talking to myself.

  “Hi,
Ursa. How’re you holding up?” he says, like we chat all the time. Which we do, of course, but normally just in my imagination. Not in actual life.

  “Um. Yeah. Hi,” I manage. Smooth.

  He grins, one side of his mouth higher than the other. I stare, remembering when my brain would have been short-circuited by his gorgeously uneven smile. But it’s sad now, broken by Maia’s death. It doesn’t hold the energy and hope it used to.

  “Could I come in for a moment?” he says.

  “Um. Yeah. Sure.” I step to one side. Apparently, I can only talk in monosyllables.

  He shuffles in, and it’s only then I remember the patched underwear strewn over my bed. He pauses, taking in the tiny cabin. I’m glad I haven’t used the wash cubicle recently. That always stinks up the place.

  But then I see his face properly. See the dark circles under his eyes. He takes another step into the room, then freezes. I follow his gaze.

  To my engraving of Maia.

  “Oh,” I say. “I … that’s just something I was working on. I …”

  “It’s her,” he says, finally, in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yeah.” I say.

  “No, I mean, it’s really her. That’s … you’ve captured her. Her face. Her spirit.” He swallows.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming. I should have put it away.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad to see it.” He stares at it for a long moment, then turns back to me and smiles properly. “You’re planning to put it in one of the corridors?”

  “There’s a damaged panel in the second habitation carriage. I was going to replace that with this. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course. It’s wonderful.”

  “It’s kind of pointless, what with the ship coming down to the planet. But maybe we can save the engravings when we dismantle it.”

  He runs a hand over his hair. It’s curly and short, like mine. “What happened to your knuckles?”

  “Oh.” I peer at them. They’re throbbing and bleeding a little from when I punched the wall, but somehow I didn’t notice it in Jovan’s presence. “It’s nothing.”

  “You should get that looked at.”

  “Yeah.”

  He looks at the floor. There’s barely room for both of us to stand here. He’s so close I can smell the musk of his skin and the scent of soap. So familiar, it’s like breathing in the past. Breathing in the times when I would talk Maia into hanging out in her cabin, just so I might run into him.

  “I owe you an apology,” he says.

  “What?”

  “I should have come to you sooner. It’s just, Maia’s death hit me hard. And I kind of closed down. But I wanted you to know, I appreciate your being Maia’s friend.”

  It’s etched into his stance. The loss. The loneliness. A mirror to my own. The words come out before I can think.

  “I … I should have been at the lake that day,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she’d go on the ice alone and I …”

  He takes my hand in his. His skin is soft, and almost the same deep brown as mine.

  “No. It’s my fault,” he says quietly. “I was responsible for Maia. Our parents are dead. I should have been looking after her.”

  I can’t hold back a laugh. “You remember Maia, right? Can you imagine her letting you watch over her all the time?”

  And he gives a small snort too. “Yeah. I guess she’d have hated me for that.”

  I let my head drop forward, to hide the tears that fall. I look back up at Jovan, and he holds my gaze with his wide, kind eyes. I could get lost in them. Dark as space, and just as vast. And there it is, the recognition. Someone carrying the same burden.

  “I heard what you said at the hearing,” he says after a long time.

  Oh no. He must think I’m crazy. “You were there?”

  He nods.

  “That must have been hard, listening to that. After you found …”

  He takes a long breath in. “Yeah. It did bring some stuff back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “But that’s not why I’m here.” He lets go of my hand but moves closer, leans toward my ear. My pulse increases. He looks around, as if afraid we’ll be overheard in this metal cube, then takes a breath. “It was what you said. About the planet.” But then there’s the scrape of the door opening.

  Jovan steps away from me quickly. I want to snatch him back, pull him near again. But there’s Mom, in the doorway.

  Great timing, as always.

  “Oh. Hi, Jovan,” Mom says. To her credit, she manages not to act surprised to see a gorgeous man in our cabin.

  “Hi, Nashira,” he says to Mom.

  He turns back to me. “Um, I should go. Perhaps we could meet up on the planet? Maybe go visit Maia’s grave together? We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Okay. Sure,” I say. My cheeks burn.

  Then he steps out of the cabin, squeezes past my mother, and he’s gone, giving me a smile as he disappears. Mom raises an eyebrow.

  “Don’t,” I say. “Don’t say anything.”

  “I just … it’s good to see you with other people.”

  “I said ‘don’t.’”

  Mom presses her lips together, hiding a grin. Then she glances at my clothes, still strewn over the bed.

  “Let me give you a hand. We need to leave as soon as possible. Boarding is in twenty minutes.”

  I don’t sleep well that night, in Mom’s hut. It doesn’t rain, but that’s almost worse. It’s too quiet. There’s no hum of fans or gentle purr of boosters correcting our spin. There’s just the random hiss of the breeze and the creaking of insects outside. My bed is wide open on both sides, and I’m afraid of rolling out. The ceiling is too high above us. After a while, there’s a strange, monotonous buzz like a broken circulator, but when I get up to find the cause, Mom turns over in her bed.

  “It’s just a fly,” she says, voice muffled by her blankets. “Ignore it. It’s engineered not to bite, and it’ll find its own way out.”

  But I can’t ignore it. There’s another creature in here with us. The thought makes my skin prickle. And although the noise grows and fades, it never disappears. It drills itself into my head, keeping me awake.

  The next morning, we get up before it’s light. We wash in a bowl of cold water Mom gets from a pump in the village. It’s freezing, which helps wake me up, but I still feel grubby when we’re done.

  They’re going to get some showers running soon, apparently. Mom is excited about that. “The ones on the ship are barely a trickle,” she says. “Down here, they’ll be like a waterfall.”

  “That sounds painful.”

  Mom laughs, as if I’m joking.

  I grab my gear bag, and we head out of the hut and away from the habitation huts toward the center of the forest camp. Although now that I’m seeing it in the gray dawn light, I guess it’s probably not fair to call it a “camp” anymore. Foundations have been dug, and permanent walls are going up among the huts and tents. It’s still a muddy mess of holes and half-filled trenches, but the skeleton of a town square is appearing through the chaos. The buildings are almost all wooden. It’s taking longer than they thought to make enough bricks.

  A few landbikes wait to take the agricologists to the further-off postings, but for now, they cluster around Yuri, Head of Agri-cology. The builders and architects huddle around Capella, Head of Construction, ready to be brought up to speed.

  Construction is the newest specialization. They haven’t figured out who they are compared to everyone else. The other sections have clear identities. Protection has bossy and self-important sewn up. Engineering has the monopoly on loner nerds. Medics already took earnest and hardworking, and education are the pushovers. So, what does that leave construction? They can’t go arroga
nt, because that’s genetics’ territory, and agricology has the overenthusiastic goofballs.

  “I’d better check in,” Mom says. She kisses me on the cheek. “I’ve got a morning shift, then a sleep break before my night shift, so I probably won’t see you until tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I say, like I have a choice in the matter. And she’s gone, ducking into the half-finished hospital.

  There are new huts everywhere. Mom had to remind me where hers was yesterday. My feet don’t know how to take me where I want to go. I’m lost, even amid faces I’ve known all my life. I find a patch of mud that’s drier than most, lean against a wall, and watch everyone else scurry around.

  I’m not going to volunteer for anything. Antares, Head of Engineering, should assign my work, but it would be just like him to forget I’m even down here.

  Beta’s sun comes up slowly, dimmed by clouds, gray as light through a blanket. There’s an exposed pipe above me, and the wind blowing over it produces warped, whistling notes. They rise and fall with the breeze, like a song without the structure of melody. I should probably move away from the wall. It was a half-finished building that fell on Seginus. It turns out it’s harder than you would think to follow instructions when you have no real experience of construction. Perhaps that can be their specialization’s thing — incompetence.

  A small child jumps in a muddy puddle, feet together, eyes wide. I think it’s Aquila, Phoebe and Yuri’s daughter, but it’s hard to recognize her with her landsuit hood up.

  “Aquila!” An outraged shout confirms my suspicion, and Phoebe appears, grabbing the sleeve of her daughter’s landsuit, dragging her away too late, the bright red of her legs already splattered by dirt.

  “Ready for our forest adventure?” a voice says beside me.

  I spin around. Sabik has snuck up on me, his right hand bandaged.

  “What?”

  His hair still looks a mess. It’s a shame. It’s beautifully silky when he brushes it. It never used to get so tangled on the ship, without a breeze to mess it up. His light skin is a shade darker than I remember, probably due to the ultraviolet radiation from Beta’s sun.